


If only...

by Mamba



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Angst, Because yes, Everybody (almost) Lives/Nobody (almost) dies, Fred Weasley Lives, From book 1 to 7 and beyond, M/M, No Beta, Post-Battle of Hogwarts, Pre-Battle of Hogwarts, Rating and warnings may go up as the story proceeds, Soulmate-Identifying Marks, but with happy ending, we die like Dobby
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-13
Updated: 2020-10-13
Packaged: 2021-03-08 02:54:48
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,730
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26988592
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mamba/pseuds/Mamba
Summary: When he was seven, reading a far more complicated book that children his age would usually understand,  Percy Weasley thought that he wouldn’t really mind having a tooth-rotting mark revealing like his parents.When he was seven, Oliver Wood couldn’t imagine what it would be like to love something more than catching quaffles.
Relationships: Percy Weasley/Oliver Wood
Comments: 10
Kudos: 50





	If only...

**Author's Note:**

> I never thought I would ever post someting written by me...Even less in HP fandom (not a real fan until last year) and surely not about this rarepair that became OTP in zero time.
> 
> English is clearly not my first language but I hope it's readable...anyone interested in giving me a hand with that is very welcomed \;-;/
> 
> I confess I only have this first chapter written. I know where I want this to be headed but I'm not sure when, how or if I'll get there, maybe if someone other than me likes it it will give me strenght to not let this work die...because I really like this story and given my low self-esteem it's a lot to be said!
> 
> Thanks to anyone who will give this a tiny shot <3

When he was seven, Percy Weasley found himself hurrying into the Burrow’s kitchen after hearing a quite disturbing high pitched squeal from his mother.  
There she was, the dinner cooking by itself on the stove, precious toddler Ginny on her hip and an equally interested Ron trying to peek over a piece of parchment she was intently re-reading and smiling upon. In a beat the twins were at his side, probably in hope to find some sort of exploded pudding mayhem (after they missed the first result of their little sister unstable magic, they swore it would never happen again) instead of out of sheer preoccupation that something bad actually happened, like an accidental burning, Ginevra falling because unsupervised or Ron's clumsy efforts to…

-It’s Billy! He- He’s already showing his mark! A white Hyacinthus even! Such romantic…-

Oh. Nothing of the sort then.  
The twins groaned and withdrew themselves muttering something about unattended business in their room…he really didn’t want to know.

-Mark? What is it mum?-

Ron was slightly coming out of his shyness, apparently keen on not be left behind by the exuberant Fred and George, and made as many questions as possible about everything.  
His mother gave her youngest son an affectionate smile, patting his head before launching herself in one of the most favourite bedtime (who was he kidding, every time) story: soulmarks and where to find them, by Molly Weasley, featuring the spin-off about no less than their father’s and hers.

Each one of their child heard the story at least a billion of times (the older, the more), about how everyone, upon turning thirteen, would show a mark on their body unique in the style, colour and dimension but for a perfectly matching one. Usually the wait for aforementioned mark to reveal itself depended on if your intended soulmate was already born –some great-aunt of his had to wait three years before getting one- and apparently was one of the exceptions to Gamp’s Law of Elemental Transfiguration: marks couldn’t be modified, created, erased, jinxed or charmed in any way. Many had tried with disastrous results, leading to the acceptance of the fact that there was no helping it…For once, the wizards would let fate and chance take their courses.

Percy prayed the twins weren’t experimenting on a way to deal with it, given how they seemed particularly uneasy around the subject. 

Having had his share already through the years, Percy retreated back to the book he was reading near the fireplace –the Burrow in December was particularly chilly- as his mother proceeded in showing the children her wrist, circled by fine and delicate entwined ivy ropes, describing how in her third year at Hogwarts her mark showed exactly on the midnight of her birthday and there was no mistake on who her other half was. Especially because in Molly’s and Arthur’s case they were both placed on their wrists, but on the opposite one, so whenever they laced their hands together if would form an even longer rope of beautiful leaves.

Disgustingly romantic, if you asked Percy.

If you asked him twice, though, he would admit that it was incredibly sweet.

When he was seven, reading a far more complicated book that children his age would usually understand, Percy Weasley thought that he wouldn’t really mind having a tooth-rotting mark revealing like his parents.

When he was seven, Oliver Wood was too busy zooming in his backyard to read or do something different than flying. His dad was a broom maker after all, and what kind of ungrateful child would had he been if he didn’t volunteered for test drives?  
His mother still argued sometimes that he wasn’t old enough, but she was starting to realize how much this was her son’s element. That been said, Oliver was never allowed to ride a broom if she or his father weren’t nearby…He could easily live with that, for now. 

At the moment though, his thoughts were on keeping the broomstick firmly and steering to avoid the obstacles made with old cushions in their little back garden. His father was following him a few feet behind, encouraging him and giving him tips, even if he knew very well that it was only a matter of years before his son would be the one teaching him something about flying with brooms…He would stick with the crafting.  
Oliver finished the usual circular path and begrudgingly hopped off the broom even if still on highs, receiving a chuckle and ruffled hair in response.

-Don’t pout like that, it doesn’t work anymore…At least if we still want to eat your mother’s delicious apple pie.-  
That got giggles out of them both while on their way towards the house, it was darkening already and even if while flying he didn’t mind it, the December air in Scotland wasn’t all that fun.

-So, what do you think about it?-  
-It’s great da! I controlled it exactly as I wanted! Maybe a bit heavy…-  
Another laugh and a pat on his back made him step into the modest living room warmed by a slowly dying fireplace.  
-That is because you are only seven Ollie, when you’ll grow up it will be easier to lift it.-  
Oliver seated in his favourite armchair, looking at his father throwing a couples of logs into the red flames.  
-I’m sure though that when you’ll be at Hogwarts you will have other things on your head than- -  
-No! Da! There’s nothing better! I’ll enter in the Quidditch team and win the Cup, and then I’ll be a Quidditch player for real, like the one we saw at the stadium da!-  
Now he was downright jumping on the slightly battered furniture, as if to proving his determination at his father’s silly assumptions. Nothing could ever be more important and fantastic than flying and Quidditch.

The bespectacled man lifted his son before he could destroy the room with such enthusiasm.  
-I’m sure you will, Ollie. But try to enjoy other thigs too, okay?-

At that, Oliver’s eye fell on his father’s mark.

Peter and Eliza Wood were the best parents Oliver could ever dream to have, even if sometimes he still couldn’t wrack his brain about how a broom maker and a flower shop assistant did manage to find each other in that big big world.

As records go, Peter was trying to impress his superiors with a project for a new broom and he resolutely decided that a change in the material of the tail twigs was needed. He lived in a fairly medium-sized village (they still were) and the flower and plant shops were abundantly in disproportionate number, probably because they were surrounded by farms just outside the village perimeter. Anyway, of all the places Peter Wood had to find the new component, he ended in the furthest shop there was from his house, almost unnoticeable if not for the wonderful arrangements of flowers at the windows.  
He entered, asked for substitutes for broomcorn and exited with a bunch of he didn’t know what and the name Eliza on his lips.  
Apparently the little blue and yellow bird he had permanently behind his left ear matched the one on the left ankle of the young shop assistant. She had no qualms about giving him an earful about how many years did it took for them to meet, but Peter always told him she had been smiling all through it.  
In the end the project was a total failure, but he still had the attention he wanted and got a steady job, as well as a bright future, as he always says.

Oliver found the story very strange, even though he knew it was true, getting the idea that apparently soulmates are destined to stumble in one another. 

Another thing he didn’t have to worry about, then.

Surely his other half will recognize him from his glorious Quidditch career, find him then, show with joy their matching mark and Oliver will naturally love them.

Maybe not as much as Quidditch.

When he was seven, Oliver Wood couldn’t imagine what it would be like to love something more than catching quaffles.

~ ~ ~

At eight, Percy was ready for the traditional Weasley’s Christmas holidays, full of hideous but warm knitted jumpers, second hand gifts, lively banter and food. He was obviously on the receiving end of pranks from the twins (but who wasn’t, really) as well as his mother’s kisses, which made up for the embarrassment he felt after being zeroed in with mashed parsnips leftovers, to which he always responded in kind, of course.

This year though, Fred and George seemed more keen than ever to keep up with the tricks up their sleeves. As soon as Percy spared a moment to consider the possible reason, it became clear that it was to actually lift the mood and avoid possible awkward silences in the shared room.

Charlie had turned thirteen almost two weeks before and there still wasn’t any kind of mark showing on his skin. He overheard Bill one night, talking with his parents about how in the beginning Charlie seemed quite troubled, but after a week or so he apparently accepted that it could be aunt Guinevere all over again, what with the late mark appearing, if not worse. 

Arthur sighed with a ruefully smile, but Molly Weasley was no less than weeping.

Removing the last of parsnips bits from his eyebrow, Percy glanced at his second oldest brother laughing with Ron perched on his legs; behind them, peering over the kitchen door, his mother blinked away the tears Percy couldn’t see but knew were there anyway.

That night, on the 28th of December, while under few layers of warm sheets and waiting for sleep to come, Percy thought about how he envied Charlie for accepting being different so easily –it shouldn’t have been a surprise anyway, it was Charlie after all- and seemingly no worried at all about the possibility of never showing a soulmark.

At eight, Percy knew he wouldn’t be able to live with the idea that there could be no one destined to love him the way he dreamed to.

At nine, Oliver was in the kitchen with his mother, helping her baking a chocolate cake for the new neighbours. It was a receipt Eliza inherited from her grandmother and it was downright delicious, but it had to be done by following the muggle-way (as Oliver liked to call it) and that meant do it all by hand and spatula, magic used only to get the ingredients out of the cupboard.  
He was no chef by any means –and never would since, you know, Quidditch-, but cracking eggs was quite satisfying and being able to lick the bowl clean from the raw dough was worth the effort of all the stirring he did.  
Luckily his mother took the toll of washing the dirty pans and spoons, humming quietly at the sink while he bestowed on himself the duty of keep an eye on the cake slowly growing in the oven.

Transfixed by the wonderful smell irradiating in the room, his thoughts went back to the aforementioned neighbours.

Oliver saw them that morning, moving things from their car under the early summer heat; they were a couple, no kids to play with unfortunately but seemed nice nevertheless when talking to his father through the white fence that separated their two gardens.  
His mother said they were coming from London, a witch and a muggle recently married and who knew, maybe in a few years there would be a new toddler to animate the streets other than himself!  
Despite knowing very well that he was not a kid anymore Oliver still pouted, if only to have four cookies instead of three at breakfast in apology.

Almost an hour later he was standing near his mother, gripping her blue skirt while she knocked on the Hatrow’s door, cake still warm in her secure hands. A blonde witch answered the door and looked a bit surprised, but soon after she broke in a gentle smile calling her husband to the door.  
-Oh, Peter told us you would come…Eliza and Oliver, right? I’m Alicia. Oh, you didn’t have to bring anything, really…-  
He smiled and waved, behaving like his parents taught him to, but tuned out the pleasantries Alicia and his mother were exchanging, looking from the top of her hair to the end of her polished black shoes. He always liked studying people, trying to get the things words couldn’t always say. That’s how his gaze ended on her exposed calf, an intricate mashup of curved lines and dots creating a beautiful abstract design…Oliver thought soulmarks would be more realistic, like the one of his parents, but a lot of things were a given for him.  
After a bit, a tall bulky man –Rupert, Alicia said- greeted them with equally courtesy if a bit stiff in the posture, but a kind smile on his face. As he shook his hand in greeting, again Oliver’s eyes trailed almost effortlessly on his bicep, where the print of what was probably a wolf’s paw stood, dark and neat.

Oliver returned home without really listening to what his mother said to him about the Hatrows, thinking that he took for granted –again- that only soulmates could live happily together.  
It clearly wasn’t the case, meaning that his future happiness wouldn’t be necessarily determined by finding his fated one.

At nine, Oliver was still deciding if that was actually a relief or not.

~ ~ ~

On the Hogwart’s Express, huddled in an empty wagon but for his two brothers, Percy gave a last wave to his parents, excited but also intimidated by the idea of being separated for at least a couple of months. He kind of felt bad for Billy and Charlie too, to be honest, since they had surely been bullied by their mother to keep him company during the journey to the school, but was grateful nonetheless. Being alone would have meant more anxiety and he was already tense as it was.

To be fair, they were doing a pretty good job and didn’t seem too thrown off by the fact that they were stuck with his introvert and boring self (half of the endearments thanks to the twins).  
Charlie –still without a mark, just for the records- caught him with a detailed retell of his first play as a seeker for the Gryffindor team, trying as always to convince him in joining as well, despite flying was not one of his strongest points.

-You think too much Percy, once you’re on the broom everything will come naturally…-  
Thankfully the propaganda ended quickly thanks to the carriage’s door being suddenly opened, but it wasn’t the food chart lady.

Oliver didn’t held illusions to find Scottish eleven years-old as himself on platform 93/4 right away, but thankfully he was good with mingle amidst strangers…That didn’t mean this whole detachment from his parents towards the unknown was less difficult. He made sure to listen to every detail they could give him about Hogwarts, assured repeatedly he would behave and hugged them until the last call with no shame whatsoever. 

It was the first time he had to face something this big by himself, but Oliver was resolved to not let it deter him and would proceed like his father always taught him: one step at the time. 

Problem was, half of the wagons he passed by were already occupied while the other half was filled with girls giggling to each other …He wasn’t ready to face that quite yet. 

At last, he spotted an empty seat through the glass window by the corridor and promptly opened the door without even knocking, the only things he registered were the magic word “broom” and a shockingly trio of fiery red heads now looking directly at him.

Right, down with the politeness Oliver.

-Hi! I’m Oliver Wood, can-can I sit here?- Just an hint of nervousness, good job.

Luckily the two older guys were more than welcoming, making him seat near a boy that had to be around his age –they had to be related- that smiled and waved at him, a bit shy himself.

-Oliver, of course you can! First year like Percy, right? I’m Charlie and this is Bill, all Weasleys that is.-

-Whoa! Three brothers?!? That’s sound! I’m an only child.- Oliver pouted a bit, never too bothered by not having siblings before.

-Ha! Brace yourself kiddo, because there are four more. In a few years you’ll surely meet them!-  
The pout promptly disappeared, leaving flabbergasted bulging eyes under his slightly thick eyebrows.

-You are seven?! But-That’s an entire quidditch team!- Oliver groaned for the injustice of it all.

-Why, yes! That’s exactly what I was telling Percy before you burst in here. He doesn’t want to be part of the Willowy Weasleys…Jury is still pending on the official name.- Charlie whispered the last part.

-Wha- You don’t like quidditch?!?- Now, that was an offense to everything Oliver ever believed. He turned then to face-...Percy was it, right?- Seemingly shrinking away from him and his enthusiasm, or maybe it was the accusatory tone. Probably the last one, since those fine red eyebrows furrowed over the rim of his black glasses frame.

-I like quidditch! I’m just not good at playing…- The second part was told with less animosity, almost ashamed of such a confession.

Oliver promised his mother he would never be one of the bullies and right now, in front of an uncomfortable but wary Percy Weasley, he was sure that it would be impossible even if he tried.  
He shook himself, trying not to be too affected by the clearness of the redhead’s blue eyes while searching for a way to make him at ease.

-Oh, well…Then you only need training! I’ll become the best catcher ever, so I can help you with throws practice since you look more of a chaser than a seeker, Percy…-  
After a quick glance over him, Oliver nodded, as if to confirm his evaluation.  
That gained him a shocked and slightly red-tinged Percy as well as good natured laughter from Bill and Charlie.

One can only imagine the brain meltdown Oliver experienced in discovering the two of them were first-strings of the Gryffindor quidditch team. 

To his right a more quiet presence piped up in the discussion here and there, but Oliver caught every single one comment and answered in a beat…That was what friends did, right?

Oliver Wood could really talk your ears off, but Percy noticed with pleasure that he was a listener too. Nothing like the twins’ endless avalanche of words and jokes that more often than not gave you no chance to get back at them.  
The fact that he seemed only focused with quidditch was funny if a bit worrisome…Percy was a huge fan, like the rest of his family, but couldn’t imagine going on seven years with the sport as the only subject of discussion.

Well, if they were sorted in the same house, that is. 

Percy really hoped they would.

The boat trip to the castle shores was as spectacular as his brothers described and even then, he could still hear Oliver’s whispered comments of awe. 

Professor McGonagall was downright intimidating and the living image of what a teacher should be in the young Weasley’s eyes (not that Molly had been her sweet and usual self while home-schooling her children), but not as the nerve-wracking parade between the house tables towards a stool with an old hat on it.

Percy gulped, sneaked a glance towards his brothers giving him the thumbs up and back again to pay attention to the Sorting Hat presentation and following song. What had been it about, Percy couldn’t say unfortunately, since an unpleasant sense of dread started to dawn on him at the thought that his very future could be determined by the House he would be sorted in.

Given his family history there was a very high probability that he would end up in Gryffindor, even though Percy never depicted himself as very brave or selfless (of course, a trait somewhat all the other Weasleys had); he always felt a bit different –he wanted to be different-, more versed towards books and learning…Maybe he would end up in Ravenclaw! The dread kept growing, deafening him to the list of names being called in the background, now filling his head with images of his younger brothers teasing him for being a boring bookworm as well as the only blue and bronze sheep of the family. Slytherin was highly improbable, even if Percy was afraid that his sometimes bad thoughts about filling Fred and George beds with mashed parsnip could be enough to label him as sly and cunning.  
Hufflepuff…Well, he didn’t need his siblings to remind him how much he was not patient, modest or held any other of the good qualities the house members had.

“Percy Ignatius Weasley!”

How long did he wandered in the black hole of his mind? Percy shook himself out of one of his worst habits, climbed a couple of steps and seated himself on the wooden stool, trying to hide his trembling hands under the too long sleeves of his –Bill’s- robes.

The hat was descending on his head.

Percy the Ravenclaw or a Gryffindor Weasley…For a moment, he thought about running away from it all.

-How many of you are there?! Gryffindor!-

In less than a second he was being shooed away towards the cheering table. He steered towards it with a numb mind, seating next to an overjoyed Charlie but unable to show more of a tight smile…

How could a hat, magic or not, know him more than himself and apparently without pondering on the response even a for a bit?

He was just another Weasley now, a safe net he wasn’t so sure he wanted to land on. 

-You can’t escape quidditch anymore, Perce!-

The confident smile Oliver Wood was sporting while taking place in front of him was enough to tamper down a threatening stomach ache, even though the parsnips that materialised in front of them seemed to Percy like little parts of a greater mockery.


End file.
